


Okay, love?

by iriswallpaper



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Bisexual John Watson, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Edging, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, Flavored Lube, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Overwhelmed Sherlock, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Riding, Rimming, The Author Regrets Nothing, Top John Watson, a smutty little interlude from my filthy imagination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:50:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswallpaper/pseuds/iriswallpaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porny interlude that's not connected with anything. John's POV, first person POV of a smutty, tender evening in the big bed at Baker Street. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Okay, love?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my amazing beta SincerelyChaos for editing/betaing so quickly!

I had Sherlock right where I wanted him most - face down on the mattress, arse in the air, legs quivering with the effort to hold the position. My left forefinger and middle finger, dripping with lube, were buried to the knuckle in his sumptuous body. Sherlock was starting to squirm; he burrowed his head in the bed and moaned. “I want to hear you,” I murmurred. It had taken some time for us to learn each other’s cues, to find out what works and what doesn’t with us. We’d had starts and stops, and a lot of abrupt endings, before we finally found a way to make this work.

I’d always been direct in bed, being a Captain, Retired, RAMC and all. I would fall back on giving direct commands to my lovers and most liked it. Sherlock, on the other hand, balked at being told what to do and when to do it. The first time I’d taken control in bed, he’d shut down completely. I’d continued on for a few minutes until I realized it felt like I was fucking a robot. He was going through the motions but his mind had fled miles away. That evening ended up in aborted orgasms and Sherlock in a two day sulk.

Sherlock, on the other hand, Mr. Enigmatic - Mr. I Never Say Anything Directly - was the exact opposite in bed. He expressed all of his wants and needs through ‘I statements’ and ‘feelings statements.’ It was weird for me at first, to reconcile the feeling, sharing, beautiful creature in his big bed with the cool, distant partner I spent my days with outside of the bedroom. Really, it threw me for a loop. 

Eventually I’d learned Sherlock’s language of love. Me - Mr. These Things Are Hard For Me (ha, Hard - I made a pun). Instead of issuing orders, I began to tell Sherlock what I wanted and ask him what he wanted. It came easier and easier for me as I discovered how incredibly wonderful Sherlock could make me feel. He wasn’t the first man I’d had, and not even my first boyfriend, but he was the first who forced me to connect waht I was feeling in my body with what I was feeling in my heart. And Sweet Baby Jesus, when I made that connection, I found a new level of intimacy that I never knew existed. I’d fancied myself in love before - with James, with Mary, and of course with Sherlock - but once the amazing Consulting Detective’s method in bed finally clicked with me, it was nearly an out of body experience. And now, I couldn’t get enough of the stunning man that was currently writhing and moaning under me, utterly abandoned to passion.

The mint lube was Sherlock’s idea. He’d returned with it after one of his two day disappearances while on a case, set it on the bedside table and waited for me to ask. Intrigued, I asked immediately. He said he’d like to try rimming - he’d never been a fan of it in the past, but since it was something he could give me that he’d never given any other lover, he wanted to make an attempt. He thought the mint taste and scent would overcome his prior aversions and make it a more pleasurable experience. 

And here we were, both freshly showered, and somehow I’d ended up taking the lead instead of my quirky lover. That’s fine, I actually love rimming after a good, thorough scrub down. Taste and scent don’t bother me at all, which is odd considering I’m a doctor and we doctors go to such lengths to avoid directly handling body fluids and waste. I guess I just love oral, no matter how it’s given, men or women, front door or back door. My minty-slick fingers disappeared between the flawless mass of Sherlock’s gluteal muscles, his pale mauve anus stretching to accommodate my slow, deliberate finger thrusts. Sherlock was getting louder now and I spared a thought to Mrs. Turner’s Married Ones whose bedroom was just on the other side of the wall. I hoped they’d gone out for dinner - it was early yet, so I doubted they were in bed asleep. Maybe they were in bed doing something similar to what we were. That thought sent a jolt up my cock and I learned something else new about myself; maybe I had a little voyeur/exhibitionist in me after all.

I leaned forward on my knees. I planted my free hand on the small of Sherlock’s back to keep from toppling onto him. l licked the dusky pucker that was currently swallowing my fingers. Mint and musk and a head-to-toe shiver from Sherlock greeted my tongue. “Lovely, just lovely,” I murmured, loud enough so Sherlock could hear me over the racket he was making. Along with expressing his desires using I statements, my mad partner also loved - no, lived for - praise in bed. I could send him from zero to sixty in less than a minute with just a few well-worded compliments. It was almost as good for me as issuing commands.

Sherlock’s legs began to shake in earnest when I added my tongue to my fingers. I slowly pulled out my digits and replaced them with long, flat licks from his perineum to the top of his intergluteal cleft. He shoved his right hand between his hip and the mattress. I pictured in my mind what he was doing; trying to stave off his orgasm with his fist tight just below his corona and his thumb pressed hard into his slit - the video game joystick hold. He groaned loudly; the deep, protracted sound brought a drop of precome to my slit. I’d been ignoring my own arousal in favor of pleasing my lover. His groan brought my attention squarely between my legs and I realized I was aching-hard. Sherlock stilled and panted for a full minute. His elbow twisted in his effort to squeeze the orgasm back down his prick. He ground his forehead into the bed, exposing the nape of his neck to me, sheened with sweat. Rivulets ran down either side and his curls were as wet with sweat as if he’d just been swimming. I licked my lips at the sight. I loved the messy, organic workings of the aroused male body - sweat, scent, muscles moving under pale skin. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the aroused female body, too, but something about a man sweating and panting did things to me that a woman just couldn’t.

I finally took pity on my trying-to-control-himself lover. I knew he wasn’t ready to come yet so I sat back on my haunches and stroked his thighs soothingly. He switched from panting to drawing long breaths in through his nose then hissing them out through his teeth. He sniffed then swallowed, then nodded his head. Still I waited. I needed a direct request from him before I’d resume torturing him. “Okay, love?” I asked gently.

“Okay,” Sherlock rasped in response. I shivered at the tone of his voice - desperate, still on edge, so wanting. 

“Will you turn over?” I asked gently, asking if he’d like to, not telling or demanding. This was the tactic that worked best with my detective. Sherlock rose languidly to an elbow and flopped over gracelessly. I knew he was wrung out if he gave in to such inelegant maneuvers. He wiggled until he lined up with me again, bracketing my legs with his and reaching behind his head to pile pillows so he could prop on his elbows and watch me. I reached both hands to the side of his hips and slowly stroked down the outside of his thighs. 

He was beautiful to me, the most ravishing sight I’d ever witnessed. I was awestruck that I’d done this to Sherlock Holmes, the normally perfectly turned-out, supermodel gorgeous, cool, aloof Consulting Detective. His face was flushed; sweat matted his sable curls to his fine forehead. His lips were red where he’d bitten them to get himself under control. His eyes shone aquamarine and fever-bright in the dim evening light. Mottled flush covered his chest and his pale pink nippes were hard as pebbles. My mouth watered at the sight - I’d done this. I’d taken apart my cool, collected lover and driven him to the brink. 

“I want to kiss you,” I said softly. I wasn’t sure if he’d want that after what I’d been doing with my mouth less than five minutes before. For a man who was slovenly about his surroundings, he was extremely fastidious about his person. I was quite the opposite. I kept my room military-neat but didn’t mind kissing after a lover had his or her mouth on any body part. Once again, kind of surprising considering the MD after my name, but what the hell, I like what I like. Sherlock nodded so I leaned in, bracing my weight on my right arm, straight-armed to keep our bodies apart. I stroked his sopping hair with my left hand, then down his sweat-slick neck and cradled his stubbled jaw to tilt his head just-so. “I love you, you gorgeous thing,” I murmured before slotting my upper lip between his and sucking his fat lower lip between mine. I concentrated on his lips, nibbling, sucking, licking. I love to tell him I love him then keep his mouth engaged. I know he feels uncomfortable saying it but I didn’t mind. I need to say it but didn’t need to hear it. I know Sherlock loves me, he doesn’t need to blab it over and over. I like to come up with new sneaky ways to tell him without making him feel uncomfortably pressured to return my sentiment. And it was working spectacularly well this evening. Sherlock was sighing and trying to open my mouth further, using his tongue to try to lure mine out to play. I kept my lips resolutely engaged with his and my tongue safely tucked behind my teeth. 

“You tease,” Sherlock groaned. I chuckled and bit his lip a little harder than he liked. His entire body flinched. Finally relenting, I opened my lips to his tongue. This man is an absolute master when it comes to French kissing. The things he can do with that pink tongue! A bead of precome splashed from my cockhead onto his belly at just the thought. I reached between us and hooked his knee in my elbow, drawing up his leg and nudging it aside. My lithe lover complied, taking hold of his own knee so I could explore a little lower. I cupped his bollocks and fondled each in turn, then stroked my still-lubed fingers across his entrance. He pulled free from the kiss and buried his face in my neck, which was now sweating to match his own. I stroked again, a little firmer this time, not breaching his entrance but definitely pressing hard enough to threaten invasion.

“I don’t want your fingers,” Sherlock growled into my neck. I immediately returned to cupping his drawn-tight bollocks. He groaned. “I want your cock,” he murmured and bit my neck a little harder than necessary. 

I sat back and held my hand against my neck where it smarted from his bite. Sherlock grinned wickedly into my eyes. He reached for a condom on the bedside table and tore the foil open with a corner between his teeth. Sherlock favored dry condoms. He said the lube found on lubricated ones was an inferior grade that wasn’t worth using. He also favored them dry so he could use his mouth as an application device. I drew a breath between my teeth, hoping tonight was one of those nights he’d roll it onto me with his lips and tongue. 

I was disappointed, but only briefly, when he reached for my cock and quickly applied the condom one-handed. Really, how did he do that? I’d practiced with a male anatomy model on slow days at the clinic but never been able to master it one-handed. I reached over him to grab the lube that was perched precariously on the edge of the bed, threatening to fall. I squeezed a generous amount in my already wet hand and gave myself a few long strokes then leaned forward to lift Sherlock’s leg to my shoulder. He still held his other leg so I patted my other shoulder and he slid a long, elegant foot and calf past my head until his knee draped over it. 

“God, you’re beautiful like this,” I murmured as I lined up my dripping, latex-clad cock with his already slick anus. 

“No, John, you’re the beautiful one...” Sherlock’s words broke off into a long moan as I pushed slowly into him. I don’t know what he was going to say and it really didn’t matter as I dropped my head and watched my cock disappear into his pale, shuddering body. I held his hips as I gave him several gentle, shallow thrusts. The mottled flush on Sherlock’s chest grew to a uniform crimson and crept up his long, white neck. 

“Okay love?” I asked. I knew the answer but just wanted to hear him say it.

“Brilliantly okay,” my lover answered. He often became completely overwhelmed when he bottomed so I liked to check on him often. He’d already come so close to losing control that I was concerned he’d skip orgasm and go straight into overwhelmed tonight - which would leave me wanking in the shower while he curled under the duvet, facing the wall while tears slipped silently into his pillow. I certainly didn’t want either of us to endure one of those evenings tonight. Just to be sure, I kept things deliberate. Sherlock would tell me when he was ready for more and I could keep this pace for hours. 

After a while Sherlock opened his eyes and I could see that he was, indeed, okay., Beyond okay, he was once again in control and enjoying himself. The intensity of his gaze made my stomach swoop; when he gave me that certain look, I could lose myself in him for hours. It was my handsome detective's turn to leak, now. I brushed the tip of his rock-hard cock with my lubed fingertips then brought them to my lips. Normally I wouldn’t suck on my fingers after they’d been inside someone else’s arse, but tonight all bets were off and hygiene wasn’t really top in my mind. I tasted mint and Sherlock’s desire for me. And just like Sherlock before me, I needed a minute to back away from the edge. I stopped on the downstroke, buried balls-deep in the heat and tight of my incredible lover. I bent over him, moving my dry hand beside his head to prop on to kiss him. He sensed what I needed and followed my lead, keeping our kisses light while I sucked air through my nose and thought about kidney tumors and clogged arteries to distract myself from the incredible man below me and the nearly-unstoppable orgasm that was tingling just behind my scrotum. 

“Would you like to turn over?” Sherlock asked while nuzzling my jaw. I swallowed and nodded. Sherlock knew me so well. He knew that I had a harder time coming when he rode me; I often ended up finishing off with my hand after he’d come. It was exactly what I needed right now and I was grateful he’d deduced my need. I appreciated his form of intimacy even more right now, his asking questions and seeking permission instead of just taking what he wanted or thought I needed. Really, I’d never experienced anything like it before and I seriously doubted if I could live without it now. I was Sherlock’s for the rest of my life and if he ever decided he was done with me it wouldn’t change a thing. There could never be anyone else for me after knowing this delicious closeness with Sherlock Holmes. 

I pulled out slowly and lowered myself beside Sherlock. He turned to face me and took my face in both of his large, elegant hands. He kissed me through my fight for control, nipping and laving my lips to distract me from the tingle that continued to nudge my bollocks. At last it passed and I let out a long sigh and said “Okay love.”

Sherlock plumped the pillows against the headboard for me and I sat up as straight as possible against them. I bent my legs, letting them fall to the sides but kept my feet close together. Sherlock fitted his ridiculously long legs over mine with his knees beside my hips. I held my swollen prick steady as he slowly lowered himself on it. His body was already well opened and prepared but the change of position gave him a much more intense angle. When he was well seated, I moved my hand to his waist and stroked his iliac crest with my thumb as he undulated, looking for just the right angle. I knew he’d found it when his eyes flew open, his mouth formed a perfect O and a soft “oh” escaped his lips. He rolled his hips again and again, languorously performing an intimate dance for me, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose, sweat running down his sides from the auburn fur under his arms - and he was beautiful, my eyes were full of his beauty and would never be able to look at another lover. I wanted him to know. I needed him to know; ‘I love you’ seemed so inadequate to convey what I was feeling but they were the only words I had. I wished for the thousandth time that I was truly fluent in another language - Italian or French, the most romantic of languages. “I love you … I love you … love you,” I chanted in time with his rhythm. And Sherlock took it, took my love, took my tenderness and held it to him and loved me in return.

“I want to touch you,” I murmured at last, “Your cock. Can I touch you?” Sherlock nodded and I wrapped my still slick fingers around his dark-red, long, hard cock and stroked in time as he rose and fell, rolling his hips to brush my cock against his sweetest spot again and again. I was pinned, unable to move other than my upper body as I let Sherlock work me until I couldn’t take it any more. I came with a groan, twisting my fist around his shaft to bring him off with me as I pulsed inside him over and over. My orgasm was fading as his began; the waves of his contractions around my cock brought me to either a second orgasm right on the heels of my first, or extended my orgasm … either way, I was blinded with white-hot pleasure and barely registered the feeling of Sherlock’s come spilling over my fist, dripping onto my stomach and running into my pubic hair. Sherlock’s moans seemed to come from a far-off cave and be carried to my ears across a vast plain. I tightened my fist, holding it still and letting his cock slide into the tight wetness as his hips continued to surge and recede. 

And just when I couldn’t take it another second, when I opened my mouth to gasp out ‘stop,’ Sherlock pitched forward against my chest and buried his face in my neck, shuddering and panting and utterly undone. I wrapped him in a tight embrace and whispered endearments into his ear. Sherlock was always at his most vulnerable after an intense release and sometimes the feeling of being totally out of control brought up waves of depression that crashed over him and pulled him under for days, reminding him of the out of control feeling of his drug-using days. Luckily tonight he came back to me before that wave reached out for him. I scooted us down the bed and rolled us to our sides facing each other. My legs were numb so I straightened them out and winced at the pins-and-needles sensations that started in my calves. Sherlock kept a leg twisted around my hip as he clung to me, still panting.

We were filthy, sweat-soaked and sticky with ejaculate but Sherlock was so sleepy, I made no move toward the loo. We could shower in the morning. I didn’t mind the mess; it was usually Sherlock who bolted for a wet flannel before I’d even had time to regain my breath. I stripped off the condom and dropped it to the floor beside the bed. I’d find it and clean up the mess later. 

Another pleasant surprise I’d had when Sherlock and I - well, Sherlock really - finally took our relationship from friends to lovers was how adorably cuddly he was after sex. Most nights, after wiping up, Sherlock wanted to stroke and pet and be stroked and petted for hours. My arms and hands had learned to work on autopilot and I could pet my dark haired lover in my sleep. But tonight I didn’t want to - I wanted to be fully present for my sleepy detective and cherish him as he needed it after such an intense session. 

“Okay, love?” I asked again. I stroked his long back with one hand and cradled the back of his head in the other. He nodded, face still pressed against my neck. He gave my neck a soft, wet kiss to let me know he was alright.We rested peacefully for long enough for sweat to cool and semen to crust over. I shifted restlessly. I needed to get up and piss but Sherlock pulled me tight again and I let him, figuring he needed me more than I needed the loo. I drifted off to the feeling of a long, heavy leg anchoring me to the bed and hot breath against my neck, filthy and wrung out - and I couldn’t have been happier.


	2. Okay, love!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV of the same activities.

I’d been working for 49 hours straight, first tailing - then staking out - a suspected murderer. John and I have a standing agreement: when one of us goes out alone we are to check in with each other every four hours; either by text or phone call. As usual, I’d been so caught up in the case that 45 hours passed by in what seemed like a blink and I knew I was in the doghouse with John. 

Actually, I’m going to be beyond the dog house when I get home - I’m going to be in the shit house with John. I can’t help it, I am what I am, and I get lost in The Work and can’t think of anything else, not even my handsome, long-suffering partner.

It’s just as I hide in the shadows beside the back door to the murderer’s house that I realize that I’ve left John hanging. I pull my phone out in order to text Lestrade to come with some back-up and _oh, shit_ ; six unanswered texts from John. I sigh and fire off a short text to Lestrade before slipping my phone back into my pocket. John’s texts will have to wait until the murderer is in handcuffs. If I start a text argument with him now, I’ll miss out on all the fun.

The murderer bolts out the back door before Lestrade arrives, which means I have to chase him through a web of semi-suburban alleyways and in the end I find myself dive-tackling him and sitting astraddle his back until the Met deigns to show up. I dust off my coat and adjust my cuffs when I get back on my feet and Lestrade shoves the handcuffed murderer into the back of his car. Gary...Gavin...George.. _Lestrade_ grumbles something at me about filling out reports but I hold up my phone and show him all the unopened texts, all tagged “Text from JOHN.” He gives me a smirk accompanied by a pitying look and agrees that I can fill out the paperwork tomorrow. I move to the edge of the crime scene and open John’s texts in order:

::Monday 3:44 pm: You haven’t checked in. I assume you’re ok. Let me know.::

::Monday 11:40 pm: Where the hell are you? Let me know you’re alive.::

::Tuesday 7:03 am: We agreed to check in every four hours. I’m starting to get concerned. Check in NOW you git.::

::Tuesday 9:59 pm What the fuck, Sherlock? Let me know you’re still alive. Should I start sorting out your estate?::

::Wednesday 3:30 pm: I’m worried now. I’m calling Lestrade. I feel like the mother of a delinquent, checking in with the police about my son. Text me, you dickhead. Let me know you’re alive.::

 

My gut sinks a little further with every text I open, until by the last I feel like the world’s biggest heel and worst partner. A text to John at this point will just make matters worse so I once again pocket the phone.

Lestrade offers me a ride home but I need time to think of something that will make things better with John so I decline. I start walking toward Baker Street; the neighborhoods gradually become nicer as the miles fall away under my feet. I cut down a road lined with posh shops: it’s near their closing time.

I notice that Coco de Mer is still open; it’s a very upscale adult shop that John and I have frequented in the past. I know just the thing that will make up for the worry I caused John during the past two days: something I’d tried once, in uni, with a boyfriend whose name I’ve long since deleted. Something I’d never cared to try again, thank you very much: rimming, that most intimate of sexual acts. It’s a nonnegotiable boundary for me. My very keen sense of smell and hypersensitive tastebuds serve me well in The Work but they are not conducive to giving my partner pleasure orally in his most intimate area. Trying it once was enough and I never wanted to try it again. But a display in Coco de Mer’s window gives me an idea. Intimate lubrication gels and liquids in dozens of flavors and scents...now that is clever! Perhaps a strongly scented and flavored lube can help me get over my reticence to give rimming a try with John. 

I enter the establishment and sniff my way through the lube samples until I come to a particularly strong spearmint variety. This could make things bearable south of the belt line - like chewing a stick of mint gum! I quickly purchase a bottle and slip it into my jacket pocket. I didn’t want to show up with a carrier bag from Coco de Mer - it will ruin John’s surprise.

I walk on autopilot the rest of the way home. Tension drains away with each step until, by the time I reach Baker Street, I am physically exhausted, mentally drained, absolutely starving and feel disgustingly grimy from forgoing showering and wearing the same clothes for more than two days and nights. I decide that a.shower will wake me up enough to eat, then I’ll drop in bed and sleep the next day away. John won’t mind.

John is in the kitchen with his back toward the door as I enter. His hair is wet and he’s dressed only in his dressing gown. I murmur a greeting and head straight for the bedroom. I’ll apologize once I’ve scrubbed my hair and brushed my teeth - I feel too disgusting to interact with John at the moment. I empty my pockets on the bedside table and leave a trail of discarded clothing from the bed to the ensuite.

I take a long, cool shower then step into the bedroom to find John sitting on the side of the bed with the belt of his dressing gown loose, holding the bottle of spearmint lube. He smirks and raises an eyebrow while twirling the bottle between two fingers. John spreads his legs wide in invitation for me to step into his personal space. I do, happily, and smirk down at him. 

“It’s my apology,” I murmur, intentionally pitching my voice an octave lower than normal. John always responds eagerly to that tone. “I thought I could try rimming if I have a strong flavor and scent masking … you know.” I make a vague hand gesture toward my posterior. John practically shouts in laughter and pulls me onto the bed on top of him. He slides his hands down my back and hooks a thumb into the carefully tucked corners of the towel I wrapped around my hips after the shower. He leaves it hanging open. I kiss him and murmur “I’m sorry” over and over.

John responds by threading his hands through my hair and giving it a sharp tug. “I’m still mad at you, you git,” he murmurs but it’s only a token resistance.

John Watson is an amazing kisser. He could win trophies if there are such things as kissing competitions. He does things with his lips that leave me weak in the knees and when he adds his tongue - holy Christ. Sometimes I feel like I could get off from his kisses alone. And tonight he’s in rare form, taking charge even though I’m pinning him down with my naked weight. I thought I was exhausted but my body’s perking up quite nicely under Captain Watson’s ministrations. John knows I hate it when he gets bossy in bed but tonight, I’m so damned tired I just go with it. 

I slide off to one side without breaking the kiss and slip my hand under John’s robe. I tug and pull until it finally slides off and frees the hairy expanse of John’s chest. I run my fingernails through the thick curls until John flips us both over and pins my hand between us. He keeps up the sensuous assault with his lips until I’m sighing and shivering and squirming beneath him. “Want to turn over, love?” he whispers against my lips. 

“No, I want to try...you know.. It’s my gift to you. To apologize for not checking in.” I can barely get the words past John’s continued kisses.

John leans up and smiles into my eyes. His pupils are wide and his lips are shiny-wet. He’s so gorgeous like this. No, I take that back. He’s so gorgeous all the time, but he’s _especially_ appealing like this. “You don’t have to, Sherlock. Just the gesture shows me how sorry you are.”

I release a sigh I didn’t know I’d been holding since leaving the sex shop. John, amazing, brilliant _John_! He knows me so well. He knows that the flavor and scent might mask the musk, but I still feel rather squeamish about applying my oral cavity to another person’s anal cavity. My Amazing John, on the other hand, has no such reservations. It shocks me that a doctor has such enthusiasm for licking other people’s excretory openings. And he is enthusiastic, sometimes giving me nearly unbearably intense orgasms with his tongue and lips alone. 

I turn over eagerly, wide awake now. John kneels between my spread feet and grasps my hips, pulling them to a comfortable height for his ministrations. “Ah, what a beautiful sight,” he says and I hear the click of the bottle cap then feel his fingers trailing slick over my bollocks and up my intergluteal cleft. John is a master at teasing. His trained surgeon’s fingers can flick and caress and fondle until he drives me to the edge. Tonight he strokes the back of my scrotum until the skin begins to tighten then takes both testicles into his slick hand and gently tugs. Simultaneously he strokes my anus with the minty first two fingers of his other hand. The angle he has my hips positioned in leaves my cock swinging obscenely between my spread legs, the tip gently brushing the mattress below me as it bobs with his movements. _Oh god._ I groan as he slips one minty-fresh finger in, pressing down slightly so my hips dip and my glans brushes the bed again. 

It’s too much. I’m too exhausted to deal with this level of sensation. My thighs are quaking and I’m struggling to keep from ejaculating on our clean sheets. Normally I have extraordinary stamina but tonight I’m tired and hungry, and John knows this and revels in torturing me to the edge of orgasm. He releases my bollocks and places his hand on my lower back as he slips another finger in and I groan in pleasure/pain/overload. Somewhere in there the middle of all this John must have said he wants to hear me, but in my haze of tiredness I don’t really register his words until now, when I can’t hold back my groans and sighs any longer.

I feel John’s weight shift, putting more pressure on the hand on my lower back then _HOLY CHRIST_ I feel the wet swipe of his tongue circle my opening, licking around the fingers filling up my arsehole. And _fuck_ it’s all I can do not to come instantaneously. The sounds that are leaving my mouth are absolutely obscene and way too loud but I can’t seem to do anything about it. The addition of the wet heat of his tongue to his magic fingers is about to do me in. He says something but I am too far gone to decipher his words. 

In a gesture of mercy, my teasing lover slips his fingers out and I feel empty for an instant until I feel the broad wet stripe he’s licking from the back of my scrotum to the top of my crease. Oh god, it’s so _good_. The mint smell envelopes us in a fresh, heady perfume and John’s tongue is miraculous. Where did he learn these things? Sometime in the past he must have dated someone as uninhibited and borderline lethal in bed as he is. _James?_ Must have been a man, I just can’t imagine a woman coming even close to John’s level of unrepressed love for oral sex in all its forms.

But back to the throbbing between my legs. John’s licking stripes, teasing my opening mercilessly and I feel my orgasm about to burst forth. I grab my cock, squeezing _hard _just under the glans and press my thumb firmly into the meatus. My moans of pleasure have turned to unbridled groans of pleasure-pain. John must have noticed because he stops his assault on my anal sphincter, removes his hands and sits back. I don't know what’s worse, John Watson trying to take me apart or John Watson leaving me utterly alone and struggling to suppress an orgasm that’s threatening to end the evening prematurely. I dig my forehead into the mattress and pant, thinking of ingrown toenails, mucking out horse stalls, the filth that builds up in alleys after a hard rain - anything but the ache that’s just below my fist. I’m sweating like I just chased a criminal for a mile on an August day. Just when I’m starting to get control, when I can draw a breath without panting, that clever bastard asks, “Okay, love?”__

__Okay? _No_ , I am surely not okay. My legs are shaking, I’m sweating like I’m coming down from a heroin bender and the sound of John’s voice is about to let loose the orgasm I’m trying to suppress. I groan in frustration and grind my forehead deeper into the mattress. I suck in deep breaths until the need to come recedes a bit. I nod my head against the bed. John sits still and asks me again if I’m okay. Somehow I manage to find three syllables to string together in an answer for him, “Okay love.”_ _

__“Will you turn over?” John asks gently and I think it’s probably a good idea. It’s all over for me tonight if my prick brushes the sheets just once more. I try to turn gracefully but I’m so damned tired it turns into a cross between a buffalo wallow and a dog rolling in the grass. I end up on the edge of the bed and have to crab-crawl/scoot inelegantly back into position to slide my legs on either side of John’s knees. John’s looking at me like the cat that ate the canary so he obviously doesn’t mind my lack of grace._ _

__I grab the pillows and stuff them behind my shoulders so I’m propping up on my elbows high enough to see John. He looks radiant in the dim light. He strokes my thighs reverently and I feel more cherished than I can ever recall feeling. His eyes shine with a heady mixture of love and lust, darker even than they were a few minutes ago when I turned away from him. His well-defined chest is rising and falling with his deep breaths and his lips are as dark red from kisses as his cheeks are from flush. He’s stunning and I feel close to tears (damned this tiredness) when I remind myself he’s _mine._ This clever, beautiful man not only puts up with me but _wants_ to be with me. I still marvel at the thought everyday._ _

__John murmurs that he wants to kiss me and I automatically nod before I remember where his mouth was less than a minute ago. John stokes my hair, my jaw and tells me he loves me and that I’m gorgeous. I start to panic at the thought of kissing after _that_ but then his lips cover mine and his tongue slips between my lips and I taste mint, strong, fresh mint and it’s okay. And John, the tease, pulls back and kisses with just his lips over and over until I’m nearly begging him to stick the tongue that was just in my arse into my mouth. _When did I become so depraved?_ I call him a tease and he bites my lip hard enough to make me flinch but it doesn’t do anything to dampen the desire for him that’s burning through my veins._ _

__I take over the kissing, teasing John with my tongue until he’s groaning and leaking preejaculate onto my stomach. God, I want him so badly. He slips an arm under my knee and draws it up nearly to my shoulder. I grasp it and pull it even higher as John reaches his mintyslick fingers between us. He deliberately avoids my cock, the bastard, and goes south to my bollocks and anus once more. He strokes across my entrance and it’s more than I can take. I break the kiss and bury my face in his neck, inhaling his tangy, manly sweat as I groan. I want to beg for more. He’s teasing me again, stroking his slick fingers ever more firmly across my anus until I’m nearly aflame with frustration. “I don’t want your fingers, I want your cock!” I growl into his neck when I can’t take his teasing a moment longer. I bite his neck to underscore my resolve and realize I might have been a-bit-not-good rough when he flinches and pulls away. I groan in frustration again. If he hadn’t wound me up so tight, I might have had a bit more self control and he might not have a very prominent dark red bite mark on his neck right now._ _

__John sits back on his haunches and holds his hand to his neck. Maybe it will bruise - I hope so. I’d love to remember how I put it there every time I see it peeking from the top of his collar for the next week._ _

__John’s looking at me like I’m Prometheus and I just stole fire from the gods - like I’m the most brilliant man he’s ever met. I can’t take it any longer so I give him a grin and turn away to fetch a condom from the table beside the bed. I think about popping it into my mouth as I rip the plastic packaging open with my teeth but decide I don’t want to wait that long to have John Watson’s beautiful cock inside me. I roll it onto said beautiful cock quickly and John wipes lube on with a few slow strokes. I didn’t realize I was still holding my knee until John lifts my other leg up and rests the back of my knee on the top of his shoulder. He pats the other shoulder so I slip the other leg into place quickly._ _

__There’s a roar building in my ears and the world lazer-focuses to just this moment, just this place. It feels like we’ve been here forever and we’ll be here for all eternity, John poised to lean forward and enter my body and I feel like I’m falling in love with him for the first time all over again: John, gentle/rough, conservative/kinky, quiet/brash, commanding/tender, brilliant/conductor of light. He tells me I’m beautiful and I try to tell him that he’s the beautiful one, but then he’s pressing his thick length into me and the only sound I can make rips from my throat, long and low and animalistic. He pushes all the way then waits for me, drawing long breaths while he’s poised above me and I can’t believe he’s mine - MINE - this beautiful man, this perfect fit, this person who chases criminals with me and cooks for me me and makes me sleep and writes stories about me and kills for me and fucks me and loves me. He _loves_ me._ _

__“Okay, love?” John questions but he’s not looking at me, he’s holding my hips and staring in rapture between us. I know the sight he’s taking in. There’s something so arousing about watching your cock disappear into another person and knowing that you’re joined, that you’re inside someone else, that the two of you are one person for as long as the sex act takes. I can’t see it from my angle but I can picture it in my mind. John licks his lips as he moves his hips, not taking his eyes off the sight, thrusting slow and shallow and pulling nearly completely out with each stroke. I tell him I’m okay and he lengthens his thrusts, going deeper with each stroke. I squeeze my eyelids shut as tight as possible and take shallow breaths to keep my orgasm at bay. Even though I can’t see John’s cock, just the feel of him inside me has me nearly coming apart again. He keeps the pace slow and deliberate and I concentrate on breathing and not coming until at last I feel the climax recede._ _

__I open my eyes to find John looking at me intently. He’s kneeling between my legs, my knees bracketing his neck, the length of my calves trailing down his back. His abdomen is nearly concave and I can see its well-defined muscles work with each thrust of his hips. He reaches between us and brushes two fingers against the tip of my rock-hard cock to gather the drop of preejactuate shining there, then sucks the fingers in one of the hottest, filthiest gestures I’ve ever seen. My groan is so loud it’s nearly a shout and I grind myself onto his cock. He leans forward, bracing an arm beside my head and kisses me tenderly. I sense he’s the one struggling for control now so I kiss him over and over, light little nips, as he hovers above me with his eyes shut tight._ _

__I nuzzle John’s neck and ask him if he’d like to turn over. I want to ride his cock, to draw this out as long as possible. He can last forever and a day when he’s topping from the bottom and I can angle his cock just-so to get an out-of-body-experience-orgasm when I’m in his lap. John nods and pulls out slowly then lies down beside me. He’s flushed and sweating and visibly struggling for control and he’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. I love him so much my heart physically aches so I take his face into my hands and kiss him tenderly, over and over again until he sighs and comes back to me from the edge and tells me he’s okay._ _

__I sit up and pile the pillows so John can sit comfortably against the headboard. When his spot is ready John sits ramrod straight like the soldier he is and reaches for me. I crawl into his lap, bracketing his hips with my knees and holding my weight on my shins where they’re pressed into the mattress. John’s holding his cock for me so I place my hands on his shoulders and lower myself into place. It’s _glorious_ and oh god, I feel nearly unbearably full but at the same time can’t bear to think of ever being emptied. I know John’s watching as I keep my eyes closed and grind down on his thick cock, rocking my hips to - _oh!_ \- there it is, the spot I was aching for his cock to find. John moans as I rock again, and again, and again, sunbursts of pleasure burning through my body with each undulation. I hold John’s gaze as I perform for him, a filthy, wanton display I’ve never showed anyone else but _John._ John makes me feel safe, and sane, and crazy, and beautiful, and filthy, and … he’s telling me he loves me in a voice that sounds worshipful, a tone I’ve never heard from him before and I want to tell him how very much I love him but … _oh!_ the jolts are climbing my spine and taking over the Broca’s area in my brain leaving me incapable of speech. I stroke his shoulder, his neck, slide my hand to his nape and squeeze in time to the motions of my hips and I’m lost, I’m lost in John Watson and don’t really care if I ever get found again._ _

__Dimly I register that John’s asking if I want him to stroke my cock and I nod, still unable to form words. And he’s stroking in time with my hips and it’s so good, so much, white and yellow sparkles behind my eyelids with every brush of his cock against my sweet spot and every flick of his thumb across my glans and I feel the orgasm I’ve held off for so long building and building … and John’s coming inside me, I can feel it through the thin latex of the condom and his face is so beautiful and his hand twists around my prick and I’m coming and coming, moaning his name and John’s still coming, or is he coming again? and it’s so unbearably beautiful I think I might black out but I don't want miss one single second of John’s hand tight around my cock and John’s expression of ecstasy and John’s cock pulsing inside me and I love him so fucking much and I want it to go on and on…_ _

__...and suddenly it’s too much and I can’t, I just can’t. I snap back into my body from the place I was flying high with a jolt and it’s unbearable to be back in this tired, sore, heavy thing. I collapse into John, utterly undone and totally spent. Even breathing is too much effort. I want to bury my face in John Watson’s salty-slick neck and exist in the pause between breaths forever. I don’t ever want to move again. His arms are tight around me and he’s murmuring in my ear, telling me he loves me and calling me his pet and his darling man and it’s so beautiful, so perfect, I never want it to end. John takes me with him as he slides down the pillows and deposits me on the mattress beside him. He’s stroking my face and kissing me and I can’t bear to let him go. I keep my leg tight around his waist, never wanting to break contact with this perfect man._ _

__I can feel John’s muscles tense like he’s going to get up so I clutch him closer with my arms and my leg. It can’t be over, not yet. I don’t care how sweat-soaked we are or how we’re both covered in ejaculate. I can’t bear to let him go. If I do, I might fall into the black pit that’s just over the horizon from us. John hums softly in understanding and runs his hands through my hair and over my back. I relax again, sighing at his petting and utterly content._ _

__“Okay, love?” John asks tenderly. I press my face into his neck and give his pulsepoint a wet kiss. I’m more than okay, I’m _perfect_. And perfectly content right where I am, safe in my John’s embrace, I finally drift off to the sound of John’s even breathing._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am forever grateful to my amazing beta SincerelyChaos!


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